Jerome Johnson is eleven; he's confined to a wheelchair by a brain-injury suffered at age two; he's tired of being beholden to everyone (and expected to be grateful); and he desperately wants--as a step toward independence--a big red tricycle, the kind he once saw an old man riding. Presented just that way--baldly--the story still works. Jerome gets his cycle, then can't make his weak legs turn the wheels. He sits in front of the house, immobilized, until it seems he'll never be able to ride. Then he gets his sympathetic oldest sister to take him to a secret spot with a slight slope. While she reads, he struggles: ""Soon Jerome could shake the cycle enough on the slope so that his right leg got down fast enough for the left leg to reach the top of its pedal. Then he could grunt the stiff leg down. He pedaled, but not always. He never could be sure."" The day comes when he is sure, when his pedaling is the surprise hit of the block party, when--having practiced at night on his strengthened legs--he can actually walk a few steps; and now he can also, willingly, thank everyone who somehow helped. But such clutch-at-the-throat climaxes are relatively commonplace; what's notable here is the sheer concentration conveyed, and the self-faith. And, for some, the effort will seem all the more rewarding because Jerome--affectingly but never sentimentally pictured--is black.